The I.P.O.

by Dan Koontz

  “Come on over!” Annamaria squealed, kicking her shoes off and bounding over to the table on her tiptoes, her silky black hair magically bouncing and cascading with each stride. Ryan consciously slowed himself down, following in her subtly perfumed wake at a casual pace.

  Just as he arrived at the tableside, she snatched the cloche up off the table to reveal a still-steaming 16-inch authentic New York pizza, its beautifully thin crust perfectly charred around the edges.

  His sputtering attempts at stoicism, which had been faltering for some time, officially died next to that little table. He was almost dizzy, intoxicated by the swirling aromas of basil, mozzarella, and San Marzano tomatoes in the air.

  But it wasn’t just the pizza. It was the fact that she’d remembered. He’d mentioned that he hadn’t been able to get a good Margherita pizza in Boston only once – in passing, about two months ago. And it had obviously stuck with her.

  They sat together eating pizza and drinking Cokes like a couple of high-schoolers on a first date, albeit in an eighteen hundred dollar a night hotel suite, talking about anything and everything but Avillage.

  But when the pizza had been reduced to a few slivers of crust and the conversation finally hit a lull, Ryan reluctantly asked Annamaria how her trip had gone. He knew it would wind up killing the mood, but he had to know everything before he met with Prescott the following afternoon.

  She didn’t know how to begin to answer. She’d been physically back in New York for a week, but she still didn’t feel like her trip was over. Emotionally, her journey had started well before she arrived in Panama. She’d hoped it would have ended there. But it hadn’t.

  She stood up, took a long look out the window, and then turned back toward Ryan, as beautiful as ever but not quite as radiant. “It was even harder than I thought it would be,” she said.

  She told him about the headmaster and the one bad decision he seemed to have made in six years of service – in a spot where there was no right decision. She told him how the children seemed so happy, so well cared for, and, most importantly, loved. How the headmaster had given her a sincere apology. How he hadn’t argued when she’d told him he’d have to resign, only requesting that the kids continue to be loved and well taken care of.

  “I went to Panama looking for two things. Answers and revenge. I found my answers. But they weren’t the ones I was looking for. And I never got my revenge. There was no one there to exact it on.

  “I’d always just assumed the orphanage would be in even worse shape than when I left it. And I saw myself swooping in as the protector of the poor neglected orphans, exposing layer upon layer of corruption and having the evil headmaster thrown in jail.”

  Ryan nodded. He’d had it considerably easier on his trip to the Caymans. “I can tell you that revenge isn’t as sweet as you might think,” he said. “Yeah, there’s some catharsis in it, but it isn’t cleansing.”

  “Is anything?”

  “I don’t know. Forgiveness? Maybe?” he thought out loud. “But I don’t think it can be at the expense of justice. I honestly don’t think you could’ve handled it better.”

  “I don’t know. The main emotion I left Panama with was guilt – overwhelming guilt.” She leaned gingerly on the arm of the sofa, slowly shaking her head, as her gaze fell to the ground. “I decided to give Carlos a month to stay on as headmaster, while he looked for a worthy replacement – which I would have to approve. Normally, he said the government would appoint a headmaster, but he was pretty confident that he and I could pretty much hand-select their appointee.”

  She stood back up, took both of Ryan’s hands in hers and led him over to the couch next to her. “From the day I lost my family, the only extended period of time I’ve really felt good about myself – the only time I’ve felt a sense of purpose – was in the three months I lived in that orphanage.

  “And I felt it again when I saw those kids. Right away. It had been so long since I’d felt a pull like that, I didn’t even recognize it at first.” She looked down at Ryan’s hands in hers and nervously tightened her grip. For the moment she was quiet, but she clearly had more to say. Ryan hoped she wasn’t building up to a tearful goodbye. As he gave her hands a gentle squeeze back, she looked up to meet his gaze. The boundless depth of her onyx eyes was no less hypnotic than it had been when he’d first lost himself in them a year earlier in his dorm room. If she was working up the courage to ask him something – anything – the answer was going to be yes.

  “I remember the four things you told me your parents asked of you,” she said. “Make a difference. Love. Be loved. And be happy. Well...”

  She paused.

  “I could do all of those in Rainbow City.” Then she demurely dipped her chin, keeping her eyes on his, her hands trembling slightly. “We could do all of them.”

  ~~~

  Ryan’s head still hadn’t stopped spinning. Twelve hours ago, he wasn’t really sure how Annamaria saw him. Now she was essentially asking him to move to Panama with her? The mere thought of being with her everyday made his head spin. The thought of being with her had him on the verge of fainting.

  But he was eighteen years old! Settling down wasn’t even in his ten-year plan. And running an orphanage was a philanthropic retirement plan for someone like him – after he’d made his mark in the world. His whole life of top-shelf education had to have been leading up to something – and it certainly wasn’t this.

  On the other hand, what was he really planning on accomplishing that would be more rewarding than changing the lives of dozens of truly vulnerable children? For obvious reasons, orphans held a special place in his heart. And, like Annamaria, he understood them – better than most people possibly could. Plus, he would thoroughly enjoy sticking it to Avillage and all his shareholders. Maybe he’d float the plan out at the board meeting and see how it went over. His lips curled upward at the thought.

  He decided to forego the mobile office and trek the four miles or so to the meeting on foot, with every intention of organizing his thoughts along the way.

  He should have spent the time pondering why Prescott was gladly paying for what had become a pretty expensive trip from Boston just to allow Ryan to attend his own board’s meeting. Or maybe why Prescott wanted him to join the board before he officially accepted a job. Or whether or not today would be the day he’d bring up all the dirt he and Dillon had dug up on Avillage – in what would very likely be his only meeting with Prescott. But his mind was stuck on Annamaria and a simple but impactful life in a small town on the Caribbean Sea. That had to mean something.

  CHAPTER 16

  Above the Avillage headquarters, a towering cumulonimbus cloud mushroomed heavenward in an otherwise cloudless sky, nearly black at the low-lying base, brightening to a vivid white at the pillowy top, with infinite shades of gray in between, each subtle tone intensified by the brilliant light reflecting off of it from a blazing sun that seemed out of place in the same sky.

  Ryan paused just outside the building, running half an hour early, intent on not allowing Prescott to catch him off guard again. He had hoped he would have been able to scout the lobby from outside, but the mirrored glass of the first floor made it impossible to tell if anyone was watching from inside. And if he were being watched, he would’ve already been spotted, so he really left himself no other option but to head right in.

  Pushing the revolving door through clockwise, he entered the lobby and immediately glanced over his right shoulder to make sure Prescott wasn’t lying in wait behind him, ready to revel in Ryan’s startled reaction as he called out his name. He wasn’t. Where he was, clearly, was inside Ryan’s head.

  A young woman in a neat gray suit intercepted him on his way to the security desk, introducing herself only as Mr. Prescott’s assistant. Without ever asking for his name, she invited him to follow her into the first elevator in a bank of six and pressed the “45” button, waving her security badge in front of a small black authenticator. A tiny light turned from r
ed to green as the doors closed, and they rode up alone.

  Prescott’s assistant seemed perfectly comfortable with the silence in the elevator, but Ryan didn’t want to waste an opportunity.

  As the elevator raced through the thirties, Ryan casually asked, “So, how do you like working for Mr. Prescott?” focusing more on her expression than her answer.

  “It’s exciting to work for a man with vision,” she said. Overall it came off as sincere, if somewhat rehearsed.

  He would’ve liked the chance to ask a few follow-up questions, but a chime indicating they’d reached their floor kept him quiet.

  The top floor was a little taller than the others, with fifteen foot ceilings dotted with recessed halogen lighting. The sterile slate floors along with the glass and stainless steel office furniture belied the fact that the corporation was essentially a holding company for children.

  Prescott’s assistant showed Ryan into the conference room and invited him to choose whichever seat he liked at the large oak table. He was the first to arrive.

  “Mr. Prescott will be joining you at four,” she said. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or a glass of water while you wait?”

  “Water would be good. Thank you,” Ryan said, wondering why she hadn’t said, “The board members will be joining you at four.” Maybe Prescott was the only one she thought she could speak for.

  The assistant returned shortly with a tall glass of water and placed it on the table in front of Ryan. “The restroom is just outside the boardroom to your left,” she said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Ryan nodded politely.

  “Oh, and I apologize that you won’t be able to get any cell phone reception in the boardroom. This is by Mr. Prescott’s design. Feel free to use the phone on the wall if you need to make a call. And of course you’re more than welcome to sit in the reception area if you need to check your messages.”

  “Thanks,” Ryan said, suddenly wishing he were meeting with Prescott anywhere else but on his home turf.

  At ten till four Ryan was still all alone in the boardroom. His nervous fingers unconsciously spun the empty water glass in front of him in a tight circle on the table, as his eyes raced back and forth between the window and the clock. Showing up early, it turned out, had not been the right play.

  The bathroom was right next door, and his bladder, he decided, probably wasn’t going to make it through an entire meeting. Whatever the case, in his current frame of mind, any change of scenery struck him as a good idea.

  He paused in front of the restroom mirror for a silent pep talk before returning to the boardroom, focused and ready. He’d expected at least one other person would have arrived, but when he opened the door, all the chairs were still empty.

  The meeting was supposed to start in less than five minutes! Where was everyone? Prescott was known for his punctuality. Maybe he was planning a coordinated grand entrance to give a daunting eight-against-one feel.

  At three fifty-nine, Ryan was still sitting alone. By force of habit, he pulled out his phone to check for a message, perhaps that the meeting time had been changed, but he was quickly reminded that he had no service. He slid his phone back in his pocket and bounced his right leg nervously on the ground.

  By the time he looked back up, Prescott had silently materialized in the doorway. Ryan’s whole body jumped almost imperceptibly. Almost. Somehow Prescott had gotten him again.

  He quickly rose to shake Prescott’s hand, taking care to match Prescott’s firm grip precisely. Their hands were similarly sized, but Prescott’s felt thinner; Ryan thought he looked generally thinner than he ever had on TV. Then again, he hadn’t been on TV much recently. Similar in height, they naturally looked each other straight in the eye. Ryan had to fight the tendency to break the handshake or eye contact first.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, finally,” Prescott said with a cordial smile, finally releasing his grip. “Welcome to New York. And thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”

  He turned to close the door.

  “Won’t the other board members be joining us?” Ryan asked.

  “No, they won’t,” Prescott said nonchalantly.

  What?! Ryan thought. Is he trying to pull some kind of bait and switch? Prescott was known for keeping his associates guessing, but he didn’t flat out lie to them. “I was under the impression that there would be a meeting of my board today,” he said, trying to keep a steady tone.

  “That’s because that’s what I told you,” Prescott said with a smirk, lowering himself into the seat directly across the table from Ryan.

  Ryan was starting to boil inside. He briefly thought about how satisfying it would be, on so many levels, just to walk out of the room without another word, pick up Annamaria at her hotel and leave for Panama straightaway, never to be heard from again. But, he reminded himself, he may never get this opportunity again. “So what changed?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Prescott said, sensing Ryan was tiring of his evasiveness.

  Ryan looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. He didn’t appreciate being played. “Mr. Prescott, please realize that my time is very valuable – if not to the board members, to me. I’m going to give you one warning. Atlas is seriously considering shrugging, and if I do, it’ll send waves – not ripples – all through your market.”

  “I apologize. I promise, I’ll explain everything to you. I’ll stay here as long as you like and answer every question you have. It’s not in my best interest to withhold information from you,” Prescott said smoothly. “But first, I want to ask you a few questions.”

  “Shoot,” Ryan said impatiently, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

  “Have you accepted any offers for employment yet?”

  “No, not yet. I’ve got some good offers on the table,” he said, his mind sticking on the one he’d gotten one night earlier from Annamaria. “But I haven’t formalized anything yet.”

  “How are you going to decide?” Prescott asked, his eyes narrowing as he leaned into the table toward Ryan. “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m looking for something impactful,” he said without hesitation. “I realize I’m only eighteen, and maybe my first job won’t give me the opportunity to change the world, but I have to see it as at least a step in that direction.”

  Prescott nodded. That was essentially where he’d been when he was finishing college. Every decision he’d made was toward one ambitious goal. But his goal had been better defined. It wasn’t clear that Ryan was working toward something specific. Changing tacks, he continued, “What do you care about? What are you passionate about?”

  Again Ryan answered without pause. “I think people with cancer naturally care about cancer research. People with Parkinson’s disease care about that. So it should come as no surprise that on a personal level I care about the plight of orphans.

  “And while I think Avillage has done some good things to address the issue of orphan neglect, I think you’ve swung the pendulum too far the other way – toward exploitation.”

  Prescott nodded indifferently, as if he were collecting random survey data. “What did you do your senior project on at Harvard?”

  “I did it on Avillage,” Ryan said.

  “I did mine on Avillage at Princeton,” Prescott said, smiling. “Almost forty years ago.”

  Ryan’s expression lightened. “You might not be smiling if you read mine.”

  “I’d love to hear your perspective some time,” he said, unoffended. “I'll be the first to admit I’ve made some mistakes along the way. But I’m also very confident I’ve done much more good than harm – on a national scale.”

  “What about on an individual scale?” Ryan asked.

  Prescott gazed over the long table and out the window. “That’s difficult, if not impossible, to measure. And if I'm being completely honest, I don't spend too much time thinking about that. But we both know that people who are miserable are generally unproductive, and
that’s not in anyone’s best interest.

  “I can tell you that what most parents – good ones anyway – try to do is identify their children’s strengths and nurture those. We have the opportunity to go a step further. We identify strengths and then choose the parents who can best nurture that child’s specific gifts.”

  “Meddling along the way of course,” Ryan chimed in.

  “As little as possible actually,” Prescott said. “You’d be surprised how much we leave to the adoptive parents. We just try to take some of the subjectivity out of the parenting process.”

  “That’s not the perspective of the Avillage orphans I’ve talked to.”

  “That may be a function of your sample size,” Prescott said. “And I think you'd find that most kids, adopted or not, think their parents meddle too much in their lives.”

  “Most kids don’t end up in federal prison over their resentment for their parents, or die on a basketball court because they weren’t told of their potentially fatal heart condition, or wake up scared and alone in a hospital after elective surgeries their parents signed them up for without their knowledge.”

  “Those are extreme examples – all tied to one person in the company. And as soon as I found out what he’d been up to, I fired him on the spot.

  “We've been cooperating fully with the authorities in their investigation from day one. Everything so far is pointing to Aaron Bradford's having acted alone.

  “J’Quarius Jones was a tragedy," he said, shaking his head dolefully. "There’s nothing I can do to make that any better, except to try to prevent it from ever happening again. After he died, I changed our policy to make medical records immediately available to the adoptive parents and the entire board – not just the chairman.